The Hero Complex
by Lialioya
Summary: Case File 456 A-25 deals with a herculean agitator who not only has a guilt complex, but also has the incentive to punch Thaddeus Ross in the jaw. The Sokovia Accords put her in an uncomfortable place; fighting for the right to be free, and agreeing that she's a hostile threat. As the biggest example of what the Accords will bring, Melony Robertson must chose a side.
1. Sea Sick

The lights beyond my eyelids flickered, and I knew there was no point in pretending I was asleep anymore. My face contorted into a snarl. Fluorescent lights always made my skin crawl.

"What?" I asked, my voice shaky from lack of use. I sat up, ready to spit on whoever was near me. Unfortunately, no one had entered my cell yet. I could see one of them standing directly outside, punching in a few mandatory codes to unlock my cosy cage.

The man entering my cell carried a translucent bowl filled with something that was supposed to be edible. Great. Feeding time.

There was a crystal clear door between me and the guard, to ensure I didn't try to jump him. I watched the guard open a small flap and push my bowl through the opening. I looked at the bowl that was now inside my cell and sighed, exasperated.

I swung my feet over the edge of a suspended platform that acted as my bed. I hopped off and landed on the steel floor, hoping that they wouldn't tazer me until I saw God. I walked over my breakfast.

The guard hadn't moved. Usually they scuttled away, unable to stare into my bloodshot eyes for longer than a second. I was a bit excited, actually. The glass cage I was in gave me plenty of opportunities to stare at myself, perfecting my _Sleep-Deprived-And-Pissed-Off_ persona. Finally, I had a chance to show it off.

I picked up my bowl and the plastic spoon that came with it. The guard was still staring at me.

"Come here often?" I asked, stirring my sludge. His face was unreadable, but I shrugged off his rejection easily. I scooped up a spoonful of the food and pointed it at him with a forced smile. "Hungry?"

Looking at his glassy eyes made my hand sway slightly.

"Jesus, did a Dementor get you this morning, Soulless?" I asked after a few moments of silence. I buried my spoon back into the bowl. Something seemed a little _off_ about this guard. I looked back at him, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Are you gonna try something? You're welcome to join me in here if you want."

My eyes traveled down the guard's torso, and my heart skipped a beat.

All the guards dressed the same; a black jumper, a stupid looking hat, and a badge with cursive writing drawn on it. But for this specific guard, instead of the tell tale badge being on the left side of his chest, it was pinned on the right.

It was small, but I had spent enough time here to know that even minor changes in uniform were prohibited. I looked back up at him, and life seemed to flood back into his eyes. His arm twitched as I turned away.

"Nice uniform, by the way. You should get a medal for not spilling anything on yourself," I called over my shoulder. I didn't bother checking whether he had left or not.

I sat down on my bed and tried to stir the sludge up a bit more. I knew I shouldn't get my hopes up, seeing as ten months of nothing but static wore me down quite a bit, but this small change was enough for adrenaline to spark in my fingertips.

He had been _different_. The guard was different! Along with his persistence for me to _notice_ that he was different, that badge meant something. Maybe it was time for me to finally get out of this dump …

I stirred the food with my spoon before getting so fed up with my lack of results that I threw the bowl on the ground. Its contents splattered everywhere. It probably would have helped if I had poured it out nicely, but I was willing to put in the time. I got on my hands and knees and sifted through the sludge for what seemed like a long time.

My palm ran over a sharp bump and I flinched away. I let my spirits climb higher and higher as I picked up the object, wiping off the excess sludge and looking at it carefully. With glee, I realized what it was.

It was a spherical object with rods sticking out at every angle, except one specific spot. In that spot, there was a tiny button, small enough to be overlooked and almost impossible to detect. Bingo.

I jammed my fingernail into the button and then rolled it to the middle of the room. I frantically crawled away from it, stopping near my bed and waiting. It couldn't be more than a few more seconds, now …

The small sphere lit up suddenly, and a loud hum engulfed the room. I shielded my eyes. A huge surge of electricity exploded from where the ball used to be, and traveled to the nearest mechanical device, which just so happened to be a camera inside my cell.

The surge continued, traveling through the building via wires, and I could hear every single machine in the entire building shut off simultaneously. Even the emergency lights failed to respond at first.

I stood up, grinning widely.

It was time to blow this popsicle stand.

It was pitch black, so I strained my ears to catch any sound of movement. Not two seconds later, I heard the sound of my cell door being manually opened.

With one hand placed on the top of my bed, it was easy to maneuver myself so it was in front of me. I wrapped my hands around the narrow sides, holding firmly, and proceeded to yank it free.

I braced myself, but the weight of the heavy platform didn't faze me too much. I crossed my cell, waiting for the sound of the crystal clear door opening. A faint _whoosh_ reached my ears. I wasn't alone anymore.

I spread my feet apart and swung the large platform I was holding at whoever had entered. Like a large, rectangular baseball bat.

I hit at least three people. Yet, I suspected there were probably more guards coming, so I threw my bed at where the footsteps were coming from. Surprisingly it soared through the doorway, knocking guards down like dominoes, and stopped down the hall.

 _Call me the Tetris master,_ I thought, ignoring the groans of pain from the guards that were in the way.

In the almost complete darkness, I ran out of my cell, accidentally tripping on at least three limbs.

I nearly let my giddiness get to me before a guard that was lying down pulled out a tazer and swiped it near my ankle.

I had to jump and swerve away from it to escape. My back hit a wall, and I could see by the light of the taser that the guard was standing up. Others could not be far behind him.

He lunged at my thigh and I slid along the wall, feeling awfully claustrophobic in the tiny hallway I was in. The overwhelming shadows the taser cast weren't helping, either.

"Cut that shit out," I growled, kicking the guard where I thought his throat might be. My aim wasn't half bad, at least I managed to make him drop the taser. I dove for it, and grinned like a Nobel Prize winner once I had it firmly in my hands.

I felt something touch me and immediately I brought my weapon down on it. I got to my feet and used the taser as a light source, squinting down the hallway. Unfortunately, it was too long to see down, but I could hear reinforcements coming.

I turned around and saw a guard lunging towards me. I threw myself on the ground and narrowly escaped his grip. I gripped my only source of light, giving it a long look before shutting it off and scrambling to my feet.

More guards with the same idea as me flicked on their tasers. I attached myself to the wall once more and decided I would try my best to avoid the light, and maybe I would make it to the end of the hall.

I hadn't shuffled more than two feet when the emergency lights turned on.

At least twenty pairs of eyes settled on me, pathetically clinging to the wall.

"Howdy," I greeted, my voice small as they slowly reached for their batons and firearms.

The unit I was in had little to no guns, but only one bullet was enough to take me down. I could hear guards coming from the other direction as well, slowing down and readying themselves to attack.

In ten seconds I would be surrounded by a shitload of armed guards.

Needless to say, I was out of options.

Unless…

Well, I wasn't exactly in perfect condition, considering I hadn't used it in almost a year, but what choice did I have?

"Excuse my French, but this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch," I warned. I breathed deeply, and rolled my shoulders back.

The guards processed my words, and I saw their eyes widen. I stood in the middle of the hall, watching the guards try their best to cover themselves.

I felt a surge in my stomach and extended my arms to both groups of guards. My abilities were no longer in hibernation. I could feel my heart pounding, my blood roaring, and all at once, I forced the adrenaline out of my body...

But nothing came out.

My eyes widened as I flexed my fingers and tried to activate my power. I waited another few seconds as the guards looked at me warily, before realizing that nothing was happening.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I practically screamed. The one time I wanted to react sporadically was the one time I couldn't do anything.

The first shot was fired, and I instinctively jerked my body away, but it still grazed my shoulder blade. Pain erupted from my back and I cried out. Fortunately, that was the trigger that caused my magic to explode from my body.

I sank to one knee as all the guards were thrown backwards. I bit my tongue and swallowed, my throat dry. I placed my hand on the ground to steady myself as the world began to spin.

I felt exhaustion sweep over me, but there was no time to nurture it. I rose to my feet and tried to not focus on the blinking lights for fear of throwing up.

Turning away from the direction of my cell, I stumbled over the unconscious bodies of guards. The only clear thought in my head was to escape.

I almost made it through the the forest of limp bodies when I recognized one; it was the guard with the badge on the right side of his chest. I looked at his face for a few heartbeats, debating leaving him there.

"Oh, fuck me," I murmured, bending down and hoisting him over my shoulders like a fireman. My shoulder shrieked in distress at the sudden weight, but I powered through the pain.

When I reached the end of the hallway, I nearly ran into a group of panicked guards talking about the left wing being on fire. I watched them turn a corner, and frowned.

How big was this place? How many other prisoners were there in here?

I had been heavily sedated the last time I was allowed to leave my cell, and that was so I could go to their special electric shock room. That was one place I did _not_ want to revisit, so I opted to turn left. Besides, that was where the guards came from. Maybe if I followed that hall, I could find a room filled with punk guards that I could force into telling me an exit.

I adjusted the guard slung across my back, wishing he would wake up and tell me how to get out of this hellhole.

The hallway flashed, illuminated by the emergency lights, but I could clearly see how every surface gleamed. The janitors needed a raise, for sure. However, a damp smell assaulted my nose and made me recoil. The farther I traveled down the hall, the stronger the smell was, and fear made my heart beat in my throat.

I turned to the right when the hall eventually split. That hall was lit up with another light source: a grey glow coming from a floor to ceiling window. I hesitated, not wanting to see what was outside of my prison,but I had to know.

I looked out the window, and my blood ran cold.

Water.

 _Everywhere._

I squeezed the guard's ankle and wrist so hard he groaned, so I put him down, and let him wake up a bit. I grabbed my chest and looked out at the expanse of nothing but ocean for miles.

"Water. It had to be a goddamn _ocean,_ " I muttered hoarsely. I tried to distract myself, to think of anything else. Anything other than being thrown into that deep abyss of water, every orifice filling up, trying to fight a fruitless battle against the waves…

"H-how long was I unconscious for?" the guard asked, making me jump out of my stupor.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Ten minutes?" I replied, refusing to look at the window. I looked at the guard's face. He looked Filipino, and was quite tall and lanky. His face was drenched with sweat, but he pretended as if the obvious concussion he had wasn't bothering him. He surveyed the hall, and seemed to know where he was. "What's your name? Who sent you?"

"Call me Lito. Director Fury sent me," he said quickly. I helped him to his feet as he began speed walking down the hall. "Come with me, Miss Robertson."

"Fury sent you?!" I exclaimed, elation filling my chest. I faltered for a second as electricity rushed back to the building. The hallway lit up, but at least I now had some kind of helper to get me out of here. I jogged to catch up with Lito, grinning all the while. "Took him long enough."

"There's no time to discuss." Lito gave me an unimpressed side eye and looked down a hall before ushering me to turn into it. "Besides, all I know is we have roughly fifteen minutes before their servers have full control over the system again."

"Fifteen?" I said, confused. "How organized was this? Is there anyone else on board?"

"There are five agents, including me, in this prison," Lito explained. Guards turned the corner, and I took a step back as they cried out and pointed at me. Lito had a loaded pistol in his hand in two seconds flat, and took five seconds and two bullets to take down both guards. Lito turned to me, nodding at my look of admiration. "This way, Miss Robertson."

"You can call me Melony," I said as we reached another corner. "I think I'll keep you, Lito."

"I'm flattered," Lito said, smiling slightly. "Especially since I heard compliments from you are not common."

"I got a reputation to uphold," I responded. "So where exactly are we headed?"

"There is a small jet that is awaiting our arriva-"

A spray of bullets flew through his chest, causing me to cry out in horror.

I grabbed his arm and yanked him to safety behind a wall, but the damage was done. There were four bullet holes in his torso.

I put my hands on his wounds, wondering if I could somehow help him using magic. "Lito! Come on, help me put pressure on these-"

His mouth was moving, so I ducked down and placed my ear next to his lips, ready to hear some kind of instruction that would help me save his life.

"That hall. Forty yards down, turn right. The second door on the left. Agent 13 is waiting for you. She has instructions to fly you out of here," Lito muttered, his last words gargling a bit as he choked on his own blood. "Tell her… Plan Beta has been ordered."

I shook my head, looking at him, saying: "Okay! Okay. I'll carry you …"

His eyes were shiny, and for the second time that day he looked soulless, but this time it wasn't just an act.

I looked at his dead body for a few moments weakly, feeling my knees buckle. My lungs became unbearably tight. _He's dead, oh god …_

I sat up, and some part of me must have been visible, because another spray of bullets was fired by the unknown attacker.

I slammed my back against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut and looking at the ceiling. _Come on, Melony,_ I told myself. _You weak piece of shit, get a move on or you'll die!_

I smelt Lito's blood, and it made me angry and miserable all at once. I bent down and quickly grabbed Lito's pistol. There was a break in the onslaught of bullets, and so I stepped into view. I exposed myself fully just get a good look at the person who killed my friend.

I pointed my gun at a heavy built man who was looked irritated that he had nothing to reload his gun with. He had oddly square features.

"Aide-moi à echapper," he called to me. He was asking me to help him escape in … French. He must be one of the prisoners. He looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to his face. "Et je te laisserai vivre."

Oh, he'll let me live if I help him? How generous. I pressed my lips into a smile, but it didn't come close to reaching my eyes.

"Va te faire enculer," I said as I readied my gun and shot at him. He dove to the side, then ran zig-zagged down the hall. I lowered my weapon, frustration making me grumble: "Branleur."

I watched him reach the end of the hall, then turn left. I swallowed, turning and giving Lito one last lingering look before sprinting down the hall and turning right.

According to Lito, I had about five minutes to get out of there. I went to the second door, just like he said, but it was locked.

I kicked the door down, and it landed with an echoing sound. I stepped through, and fifty pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. I lowered my gun as my jaw opened in disbelief.

Well. I had found the hangar.

It was filled with various jets, boxes, aircrafts, but most predominantly, pilots; packing up and readying themselves to fly.

When the first guard reached for her gun, I sprinted behind the first aircraft I could see. Bullets hit the machine and I flinched, curling myself into a ball and trying to avoid being hit. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Figures.

"Robertson!" Upon hearing my name I turned to see a young man waving at me from a ledge directly above. I looked up just as the guards shot him through the heart. I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid watching his body fall on the ground. If that was Agent 13, I was doomed.

I crawled over to a box, peeking over only to shoot a guard that came too close. However, my presence turned out to not be that big of a priority. People were yelling orders, organizing the pilots to get into their jets. Was this an evacuation?

I had about two minutes, and I was wondering why I was on such a schedule. Were all the pilots leaving in two minutes? Could I possibly sneak onto a jet and get out of here?

I raised myself to one knee, just as the the hangar doors opened. A blast of sea air made me topple over. I could see lots of guards fall over as well. Was this my only chance of escape?

I shot a guard who spotted me, and kept making my way to the other side of the room. A ship had landed in the middle of the hangar, and the doors were starting to close. I was missing my chance! Panic gripped my chest. I was so close to a jet that had the doors wide open, but what was the point if I couldn't leave the hangar?

Just then, the hangar doors screeched, and began to open again. The commotion died down immediately, and a moment of silence plagued the hangar.

The room seemed to simultaneously turn its attention to the door I had come through.

A flood of prisoners in the same orange jumpers I wore entered the room with heavy duty machine guns. Apparently, they had made a pit stop to the weapons department before here. They flattened most of the pilots in the room, and the few guards that were left.

Alarm bells rang, and the remaining guards were sniping people from above. Most of the prisoners were unarmed, so their brute force wouldn't hold up for long. A bullet strayed too close to me for comfort. I covered my head for a second before braving the pandemonium.

"I'm about to _die!_ " I proclaimed, jumping over the box I was hiding behind. I 'stealthily' ran to the jet with the open doors. As stealthily as I could muster, anyway.

A prisoner was thrown on top of me after being blasted by another jet that was taking off. Some of the prisoners had decided to leave as quickly as possible, but luckily there was still lots of fighting to cover my escape.

"Get … off," I grunted while kicking the singed body away from me. After I was free, I half scrambled, half sprinted to the open jet.

I climbed into the jet, but realized there was already someone there.

The woman hiding behind the pilot's seat brandished her own gun, and commanded in a hard voice: "Drop it, or I'll shoot."

I pulled the trigger of my pistol, refusing to give up without a fight. Unfortunately my gun was empty, so all I could create was a hollow clicking sound.

I dropped my pistol and raised my hands, swallowing hard. I made it all this way, and for what? To be caught at the finish line.

The woman stood up, her blond hair visible in the shadows of the jet, and so was the badge on the right side of her chest.

"Agent 13?" I asked, praying the woman was the agent I was looking for. She seemed wary, lowering her weapon. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she said, confused. Her eyes narrowed, looking beyond me. I turned just in time to see her shoot someone who had ran into the jet.

I jumped out of my skin, turning and lacing my hands together in a pleading position.

"Lito told me you were going to fly me out of here," I explained.

"I have orders to fly my unit out of here, no one else," she barked.

"I thought you were assigned by Director Fury to get me out of here?" I asked, my voice getting higher in volume as the commotion outside began to calm down. The hangar doors weren't going to stay open forever.

"Director Fury is _dead,"_ Agent 13 said, shaking her head. My heart sank. _What?_ "He has been for two years now."

 _Oh._ I nodded, cursing my luck. Fury 'died' in 2014 after Hydra infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D, but he wasn't dead, just underground. Agent 13 had outdated information, which would make convincing her to get me out of here harder.

Beyond her, in the hangar, I saw a few jets lift off and fly to freedom. There was no way to know if they were the pilots from before, or if they were prisoners.

"Listen," I said calmly. She looked a bit insulted at my sudden change of tone, but I didn't have time to coddle her. "I knew you were here because Agent Lito told me-"

"You expect me to believe you?" Agent 13 said. "How do I know you didn't kill him?"

 _Shit._

Wait!

"Lito said to tell you that Plan Beta has been ordered," I remembered.

Her mood changed like the flip of a switch. She nodded, lowering her gaze. Apparently Plan Beta was good, but the pain in her eyes begged to differ.

"If they're all dead, I suppose I'll have to finish this on my own," Agent 13 stated. Her voice was still hard, but the way her voice broke when she said 'on my own' made me feel guilty for some reason. Were those other Agents her friends? But then how was she the only one who didn't know about me?

"Did Agent 78 give you the package?" Agent 13 asked. She waited for a second, but I had no idea what the 'package' was. This was an epic escape mission, not Christmas. "Agent 78, you know, Agent Lito? Did he give you the package."

"No?" I said, confused. "What the hell?"

Agent 13 looked as if she was about to get angry before realization dawned on her. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Melony Robertson," I said. The way her eyebrows rose made me believe she knew my name.

She turned and sat down in the pilot's seat. I caught her muttering: "How could I have been so stupid."

So … I guessed I _was_ the package? If that meant I got a ride off of this goddamn prison, I would even dress up like a jolly old man and pretend I was an obese creeper.

The hangar doors began to close, and the screeching sound that signaled it made both me and Agent 13 jump.

Agent 13 closed the hatch, and turned the jet on. I grabbed the co-pilot's chair, and watched as Agent 13 lifted us above the fighting prisoners. The hangar was closing quickly.

Agent 13 shot us at almost full speed towards the exit. She dipped as low as she dared, desperately trying to make sure we weren't crushed.

We flew out of the hangar, but the door managed to bite off a chunk of our plane. Agent 13 switched our power from the back of the jet to the front, which would make for a bumpy ride, but at least it would get us away.

I let go of the co-pilot's chair and rest my forehead against it lightly. Agent 13 was either ignoring me, or giving me a chance to breathe. Regardless of the reason, I was thankful for a few moments of silence.

Silence that I broke when laughter bubbled up my throat and escaped my mouth. I slumped against the chair, making Agent 13 turn and look at me strangely as I giggled, hysterical.

"What's so funny?" Agent 13 demanded. Her tone made me laugh louder.

"Ah, nothing," I gasped. "I'm just … out. I'm out! _Finally …_ "

Agent 13 sighed, but even after I stopped snickering, I didn't join her in the co-pilot's chair. I didn't fancy ogling at nothing but ocean for however long it took to get us out of there. "You have a strange sense of humour."

"You betcha'," I murmured, grimacing as I touched my still aching shoulder. I should have treated that properly, but I didn't stress too much. My body had a nice habit of healing very fast.

The pain of my other injuries settled in, but my exhaustion and stubbornness to get some well-earned sleep eventually won.

I must have dozed off, my head resting against the cold metal floor. I didn't have the energy to ask her why she called me a package (what the hell was _that?)_ or whether or not she was going to sacrifice me.

 _Does she think I'm a virgin?_ The thought swam through my sleep-deprived mind at some point. _Virgin sacrifices are worth more, aren't they? Too bad for her._

* * *

The inside of the jet was almost completely dark when it was hit. Upon impact, my head whacked the ground hard enough to rouse me from sleep.

" _Ow,_ what the-" I sputtered, rubbing my head. Agent 13 had abandoned the pilot's seat in favour of grabbing a parachute from a shelf on the jet. My vision was blurry, but I accepted her help when she offered a hand.

I stood up and nearly fell over again as the jet was hit for the second time. Agent 13 shoved a parachute into my hands.

"They followed us," she said, and my heart sank. "We lost any retaliation methods during our escape."

Well, ain't that just dandy.

"What the hell are we supposed to …" I looked at the parachute, then dared a glance out the window, only to see that we were still over the ocean. I averted my gaze quickly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"It's this, or death," Agent 13 said roughly, passing me a parachute. She stared at me for a second before I took it. I could feel the jet beneath our feet groan and rumble, not able to take another hit.

When she turned around and grabbed one for herself, I couldn't help but look out the windows to see any sign of our attackers. We were lazily drifting through fog without a pilot, but Agent 13 had managed to keep the ship in the air _and_ fairly stable, all things considered.

I gripped the parachute tightly in my hands, frozen in place when I saw a flicker of light below us. Then another. My eyes narrowed when the clouds stirred, disturbed by something.

It took a second for it to click. We had been escaping with the other prisoner-filled jets, and the pilots had caught up to all of us. While the decision might get us killed, I couldn't blame Agent 13. After all, if we had deviated and the prisoners saw, they might have shot us out of the sky thinking we were pilots.

"Put it _on!_ " Agent 13 yelled, making me jump. She grabbed the parachute from my hands and maneuvered around me to help.

I didn't allow my eyes to focus on the water, but I had an uneasy feeling about where we were positioned.

"Are we … _above_ the fighting?" I asked, and Agent 13 confirmed with a distracted grunt. I looked out of the window and saw the clouds start to lazily move away from our jet. With each passing second, the clouds moved faster, and I took a step forward so I could see what was going on, much to the agent's dismay.

"Your parachute is caught, it's not hooking correctly," Agent 13 said, sounding panicked. I was touched, but my focus was on the much more urgent problem at hand; another plane was heading right towards us from below.

"Hold-" I cried out, but it was too late. The plane saw us at the last second and tried to swerve away, but it still rammed the nose of our jet. It was enough to make us spin as we began our descent to the ocean.

The agent was flung across the jet, as the speed of our descent made me physically sick. The bright flashes occasionally assaulting my vision were obviously due to the fight that we were falling through. Our jet was hit a few more times, causing an entire side to rip free. Agent 13 wasted no time leaving the jet, and I was alone. The sudden wind tugged at my hair, but it steadied the plane enough for me to see the water was terrifyingly close.

I had two options: stay in the jet and hit the water while still inside. I would be pulled into the ocean, weighed down by the plane. Or, I could jump and hope for the best.

I rose to my feet, and managed to get a running start while jumping out into open air.

I didn't propel myself far enough, causing me to be still affected by the descending jet. I was pushed to the water, uselessly tugging on my parachute.

Agent 13 had been right. It _was_ stuck.

I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes, despite my heart stopping. I stared at the water I was about to reach, but this wasn't just some lake near my childhood home. This was a goddamn ocean, and I was no Michael Phelps.

I hit the ice cold water feet first, and and felt something fracture in my leg. How convenient.

The world was somehow darker underneath the water, and I was still stuck in the vacuum surrounding the jet, that was sinking rapidly in the ocean. Noises reached my ears, but I was too petrified to comprehend them.

My lungs were tight, but after a few seconds, the pain became less unbearable. The coldness of the water made numbness come quickly.

I shut my eyes, feeling something stir in my chest, but the magic inside of me was struggling to work as my body shut down.

I sank deeper still as I lost consciousness.

* * *

 **A big thank you to my Beta ravenreux!**


	2. The Loch Ness Melony

Something with wings flew into my mouth and landed in my throat.

" _Gak!_ " I choked, reeling forward and trying to hack up the bug. My eyes were almost fully crusted shut and my limbs were heavy, but I was alert enough to realize I was still floating in the ocean.

" _Holy shi-_ " I yelped, thrashing and swallowing a mouthful of seawater. I kicked my legs frantically, but I didn't need to work too hard. The parachute that was still attached to my back turned out to be a floatation device as well. I guessed I had somehow floated to the surface while upright in the water.

I struggled to release myself from the straps so I could get on top of it, which proved a difficult task to accomplish with my exhausted and soaking wet fingers.

Once I was atop of the device, I rubbed my eyes free of salt. I felt tears stream down my face, but my skin at this point felt like it was ready to be shed. I could almost convince myself that if I scratched hard enough, my muscle tissue would peel right off.

My movements stopped suddenly as my mind drifted to my savior, Agent 13. If I survived, there was a chance she did too … right? There wasn't much I could do other than worry, which made me frustrated.

I hugged the parachute and tried not to be blinded by the sun as I surveyed my surroundings.

There was land jarring close to where I was. If I listened closely, I could even hear the faint coos and calls of people at a beach. I rest my chin against the parachute and contemplated swimming all the way over there. It was _really_ far. A quick glance to the frighteningly deep water I was drifting in made up my mind.

"Yep. Nope," I murmured. Chilling out in a bunch of deep water was not on my to-do list. I shuffled down until my legs were submerged in liquid once more, flinching all the while. My hands gripped whatever they could as I began to kick the water, propelling myself forward. "Here I come, you son of a beach."

I left the parachute behind when I was finally able to touch the sand. The swimmers that saw me stopped splashing to gawk. My face felt hot from a sunburn, and my firetruck red hair was frizzier than normal, the curls solidified by salt.

I refused to make eye contact with anyone on the beach, even when I finally stepped out of the water and stood dripping near the shore. Both of my shoes were missing, and my prison jumpsuit made quite a few families scramble backwards in fear.

I growled to myself, the noise raspy and inhumane. A toddler began to cry as it's mother shushed it. I cracked my neck and narrowed my eyes at a man holding his phone to his ear shakily.

I stumbled forwards, my limbs sagging and numb. What a sight I probably was as I stopped in front of the man with the phone and snatched it from his face. A woman on the other end spoke, loud and clear to silent beach:

"911, what's your emergency?" she inquired politely. I glared at the cowering man in front of me. I clenched my teeth while effortlessly crushing his cellphone in my hand. I dropped the shards of the machine in front of him, and pushed past the group that was in my way.

I limped off the beach and disappeared from sight. It was only after I left that cries of concern and anguish reached my ears. I quickened my pace, not eager to greet more authorities holding guns. I needed to get rid of my clothes as well: sleep could wait.

"Ugh, where am I?" I scoffed at a peeling sign that was no longer legible. I raised my hands, stretching my back while settling my sights on the road in front of me. "Time to go to town on this place." I snickered at myself, the noise not even close to sounding healthy. "For a wet person, I am on _fire_ today."

In the state I was in, I had no pride left to salvage, so I shamelessly sifted through a wishing fountain in search of coins. Some kid got mad at me, but I shook off his angry little fists. Melony Robertson; ruining dreams since 1990. That's me.

After ruining all of those wishes, I found a phone box and called everyone I could think of: My sister, Joseph, even my old pal, Steve Rogers.

After hearing his default voicemail, I had to restrain myself from punching the plastic matchbox I stood in. "That old man probably doesn't even know what a wireless phone is. What year is it? I should send him a tutorial book via the goddamn postal service."

I hung up and inserted another coin, scowling all the while. I didn't want to risk calling Tony or Director Fury, since those posh assholes probably didn't allow 'simple people' to reach them - completely ignoring the fact that I didn't have a penny to my name, and also had no way of reaching anyone.

"Who else?" I muttered, tapping the machine, not a single thought of possible allies or general sanitation coming to mind. Phone boxes always were disgustingly filthy, but that's what made me and them similar. I smelt like dead fish, blood, and anger. My eyebrows shot upwards as I aggressively punched in another number.

I tapped the device impatiently, listening to the phone ring for a long time. I sighed and was about to hang up when the line was picked up. My mouth opened slightly as elation filled my chest. _Finally, someone answered …_

"Hello?" the man on the other end sounded breathless, but wary as well. He was surprised someone called him, of course.

"Clint?" I said, hoping he hadn't changed his number. The last time he had given it to me was a year ago, but he didn't like to disclose the secret of his family much. Changing his number was not a stretch.

"Yeah," he said. I covered the receiver for a second to allow myself a second to grin. "Who is this?"

I nearly hit myself. "Oh, sorry. It's Melony. Melony Robertson. You do remember me … right?"

"Mels!" Clint crowed, the smile in his voice making a surreal feeling of warmth enter my chest. "I didn't recognize the number. How are you?"

"I'm good," I lied, fiddling with the hem of my prison uniform grimly. "I don't want to keep you too long. It's just that no one else is answering their phones. Did something happen?"

There was a brief pause where Clint thought over my words. When he spoke, his voice was reproachful. "No, I don't know. I haven't talked to any of them in months."

"Really?" I asked, alarmed. "Why not?"

"I retired, Mels," Clint said, laughing a bit. I pursed my lips together in a forced smile.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know," I admitted, wanting to break something. Clint was probably spending time with his family and here I was, bothering him.

"Yeah, well, I guess we've both been benched for too long."

My blood ran cold, and I curled my free hand into a fist. They told them that I retired. Is that why no one came after me? They thought I was drinking tequilas in Zanzibar, how nice. "Yeah."

There was another pause, and I debated hanging up. I placed my fist on the glass to help brace myself. Clint's voice made me jump out of my reverie.

"So, none of them are answering your calls? What are you calling from?"

"No. No, they're not," I said, squeezing my eyes shut as my own thoughts tormented me. "And a payphone, if you need that information for your census."

"A payphone?! Christ, your quality of living just dropped. What were you calling for, again?" he asked, noticing my distracted tone.

"Uh, nothing," I said, pursing my lips together while cursing myself. I felt stupid for calling and bothering him. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Where are you?" Clint demanded. I omitted a humourless snort. He probably thought I was doing something heroic.

"Yachats, Oregon, outside a community centre," I told him, thinking of the building I saw while coming to the payphone. "I think."

"You _think_?" Clint said, exasperated. I rubbed my eyes. "How'd you get there?"

"It's a long story. I-" I started, before grunting and smacking myself in the head with the phone. Damnit, now he was all worried about me.

"Save it," Clint said sharply. "Stay put, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"No!" I exclaimed. "No, don't you dare."

"Save it," he ordered. I bit my tongue as he used his Commanding Officer voice. "These phones are tapped. You can't tell me anything over this thing."

He hung up before I could describe how much I hated his idea. I slammed the phone onto the receiver, and dented it while doing so. I stormed out of the small cubicle and sneered at a group of guys that gave me disgusted looks. One reached for their phone to take a picture of me, so I turned around to make sure they didn't get a good look at my face. Authorities were already looking for me after I made an entrance at the beach.

I slipped into an alley, figuring I would fit right in with the bums that squatted there. Sitting down against a wall, I chose to shield myself behind a large dumpster. Resting my head against the bricks, my eyes closed involuntarily.

Sleeping was for the weak anyway, at least that's what I told myself after a fitful night. I was throwing a stick into the air and catching it, twirling the twig around my fingers like it was a baton. I remembered Clint made me do exercises similar because my hand to eye coordination was terrible, and I mean _terrible._ I used to trip over flat concrete and drop things that were handed to me.

I smiled weakly at the memory of trying to throw a fake grenade, and missing the target by a landslide. It was a miracle Clint didn't quit on me, especially since I had a bad habit of being a pain in the ass. I snickered. _Yeah, who would have thought_ I _was the biggest bitch on the block?_

Clint faced the brunt of it, since he met me when I was sixteen, A.K.A. prime time for my hormones to go off the rails. What a disappointment I turned out to be; Agent Barton admitted to my face he had expected a bit more from the daughter of esteemed Special Agent Maverick Robertson.

"You got his nose, you know that?" Clint had said in an awful attempt to talk to me. At sixteen, my hair was buzzed short, and the scratches on my arms and legs turned quite a few heads. I remembered I was resting my elbows on my knees, wanting to be anywhere else in the world than in a tiny S.H.I.E.L.D. training centre with a man who was supposed to get me ready to work for said organization.

After my lack of response, Clint sat down across from me on a parallel bench. He bent his neck to make sure I could see him.

"Sorry. Your file doesn't say much about any of your interests," Clint had explained. I rubbed my hands together and kept my eyes on the floor. "It's a sore subject, probably."

"It's not," I had snapped. He drew back in surprise at the vehemence in my voice. My eyes were narrowed and my teeth were clenched. "He left us. He's dead to me. End of fucking story."

"I heard," Clint had said. I offered a sardonic smile.

"Good for you."

"Okay," Clint's voice was dwindling as he realized I was never going to want to talk to him like a friend. Ever. So he stood up, and fixed me with a stern glare. "Let's get training. I won't waste any more of your time."

Looking back now, my fondness for him started when he uttered those words. Him simply implying that I had something to lose was oddly satisfying.

So there I was, sitting behind a garbage bin, fixated on the wall across from me as I thought of Clint and the kindness he extended to me even after I was released from his care.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and threw the stick up in the air. I was about to catch it when electricity sparked in my fingertips and the twig broke in half.

"Shit," I muttered, looking at the tiny pieces of wood and scowling. This whole magic thing that erratically popped up had to be dealt with. There was a time when I had a fairly good handle on my powers, but those days were replaced with hours of isolation, where I would be punished if I tried to use my magic. "Eat me, prisoner dudes."

I glanced around the alley, and other than a few disinterested and twitching druggies, I was alone. Settling on my hands and knees, I positioned my hands over the twigs and took a deep breath. I had time to practice. I could do this.

I shakily lifted my left hand, hoping the stick would follow the movement. I had done this ventriloquist type spell hundreds of time, but the stick simply wobbled slightly, then stilled.

I closed my eyes to try and regain patience. This was going to be a _long_ day.


	3. Hot Child In the City

I had to climb up fire escapes and hide in dumpsters to avoid police officers who ambled past me. They were looking for a squatter muttering to herself, but hey, practicing magic was not a silent task. Despite me not needing to utter many spells, people heard me as I cussed and hit the ground with my already bloody fist.

I washed my face using the Community Centre's sprinklers during the night. The rancid smell of blood wouldn't come out of my prison uniform, but it was tattered from my escape anyway. Besides, I had long since ripped off the prisoner seal on my shoulders, so I could be a cosplayer on coke for all anyone knew.

Someone kicked the dumpster I was snoozing beside, and my eyes groggily opened. Uncrossing my arms, I wiped the tiny pieces of concrete that had embedded themselves into my cheeks when I slept. The sun was high in the sky, and its light assaulted my eyeballs.

"Not now, officer," I groaned, guessing the occupation of the person standing over me. "I just got comfy."

"Yeah, I can see you're really adjusting well." The person said, their voice laced with surprise and sarcasm. I squinted up at them, their identity taking a minute to compute. "You couldn't even make it to a bench? Come on, Mels. I saw one when I was looking for your sorry ass."

They bent down, concerned at my silence. Through my fingers, I made out rough features and tanned skin with a few knicks here and there. I offered a lopsided grin and stuck out my hand, ready to receive help to get on my feet. "Took you long enough, Agent Barton."

He smirked at me, grabbing my hand and hauling me upwards with him. "I'm not an agent. I'm retired, remember?" He brushed asphalt off of my arms. I blinked and tried to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes.

"Once S.H.I.E.L.D's bitch, always S.H.I.E.L.D's bitch," I said, and he grunted as a reply, tousling my hair and squeezing it enough to remain playful. He seemed to marvel at how long it was. Moving on from my hair, he took a step back and grinned even more. I tried to mirror to the affection in his eyes.

He brought his palm up to the nape of my neck. Our foreheads almost touching, he shook me slightly. I rolled my eyes and grabbed his bicep. He surveyed how I looked: Pathetic, and we both knew it. I slapped his arm and he released me.

"It's good to see you again, Melony," Clint said, and all of my guilt at dragging him away from his family was shoved to the back of my mind. Seeing a friendly face was nice.

I smiled in reply, my sight blurring. "Yeah."

"You smell, though," Clint snorted, leaning away from me. "When's the last time you showered?" I scratched my peeling arms and pulled a face. He held up a finger and grimaced. "Don't answer that. But I do want to know where the hell you got that jumper you're wearing. Is it Prison Week in the fashion world?"

"Hilarious," I said. There was a pause. He waited for me to answer. He furrowed his eyebrows when I shrugged.

"Who do I look like to you? Tony?" Clint scoffed as I looked at my feet. I still hadn't found any shoes. "Wait a second … is that a uniform? Because it looks a lot like a prison uniform."

"Of course you'd know what that looks like," I said, but he ignored me. He sat back on his heels and waited for me to speak. Irritation rose in my chest at how he patiently waited for me to speak, and I caved. "Uh, I guess I sorta was in prison?"

Clint fixed me with an unwavering glare. "I have two small children, you really think that's gonna cut it?"

"I am the original annoying child, I don't know what you mean," I responded. He took a calming breath, then patted my arm more forcefully than needed.

"Open your eyes all the way, and I'll get you a motel or something so you can clean up," Clint said. I opened my mouth, extremely grateful and ready to vocalize this. "And afterwards, you're telling me everything. If you try to run away, I'll get the local cops on your ass faster than you can say 'Clint, you're Jesus reincarnated'."

He gestured for me to exit the alley first as my shoulders slumped. He made an exaggerated gagging motion as I walked past him, and I stuck my tongue out.

Hours later, Clint and I were holed up in the corner of some local greasy spoon, inhaling some quality food. Clint made faces as I breathed in my first burger too quickly. The second one I savoured more, but judging by the look on his face, Clint did not miss watching me eat.

"How do you not choke on all of that grease?" he asked, shaking his head and nibbling on a fry.

"Ten percent luck, twenty percent skill," I grinned, taking a swig of my Pepsi. "Fifteen percent concentrated power of will."

I took a big bite as he rubbed his stomach thoughtfully.

"I'm going to have to run ten miles to burn all of that junk I just ate," Clint mused. I snorted, not sharing his concern. I hadn't eaten this well in months, and I wasn't about to fuss over what Victoria's Secret thought of me. I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed loudly, parting my lips because I was a disgusting eater. My shoulders heaved with the motion of breathing, and my neck lolled.

"Hey!" Clint snapped his fingers in front of my face. I lazily opened my eyes and threw him a glare. "I said keep your eyes open. You still got a lot to tell me, like how the hell you got out of this prison place."

I stuck out my tongue, but complied. I explained how Director Fury sent a beta version of a brown out mechanism that I used to disable my cage. I also told him about Agent 13, but spared him the details about Lito.

"Then I washed up in this dusty old town, and voila. Here I am," I finished, wiping my face with a flimsy napkin and flashing a closed lip smile. My expression immediately soured when I saw the pity on his face.

"Jesus," he mumbled, looking at the bruises on my arms and face as if they were brand new. I breathed in through my nose in an exaggerated way to grab his attention.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter, I'm out now. Besides, you had your kids to worry about," I said. My words fell flat, lacking the emotional drive that would have eased him.

"What if they come back? Have you even thought of that?" Clint asked, raising his eyebrows. The motion was supposed to get me thinking, but instead it made my blood boil.

"Then I'll take care of it," I stated, my voice louder than I meant it to be. Clint sat up in his chair, my irritation striking a nerve in him too.

"How?" That single word made the magic under my skin crackle and pop. Who the hell did he think he was? Walking in here, acting like he knew what was best for me.

"Because it'll be different this time," I hissed, poking the table as if proof of my certainty was written on the cloth. His eyes didn't look at me, but into me, and I curled my hand into a fist. He of all people knew I had some issues, but the trick was finding out why I was so wounded at the mere notion of not being able to help myself. That's what he must have been thinking. Yeah? Well, fuck him. I wasn't an online puzzle for him to tinker on.

"What's gonna be different?" He questioned, his carefully selected tone making me feel like we were in the midst of an interrogation. I gave him one of my bitter grins and intertwined my fingers on the table.

"Everything." And I meant it, too. My eye twitched when he shifted, unsatisfied with my answer. I wasn't going to humour him, not about this. Not when the memory of one of my weakest moments stung so sharply. Besides, he wouldn't understand why I had let myself be caught.

Something clicked inside his head, and he ran his tongue over his teeth while dropping his gaze to the table. His voice was not challenging when he said: "They got you after Sokovia, didn't they?"

Of course they did, I wanted to say. The mere mention of Sokovia made me unclench my jaw and close my eyes for a moment.

"Yeah," I replied. My voice sounded distant as I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "Yeah, they did."

Silence after that. I hated being ungrateful to what Clint was trying to do for me, but an apology died tragically at the back of my throat. The words I needed were like poison in my mouth, so I swallowed them.

"What are you gonna do now?" Clint asked, looking up at me. I stared back blankly. Did he really think I had an answer to that?

"I don't know," I said.

He looked at me for a second, then looked away. I wondered if it hurt him to see me like this, but even that was a fanciful notion. I must have looked so stupid and lost at that moment, like I was a dumb kid again, trying to be tough.

He probably wished sometimes I would just stay down and accept my fate instead of dragging myself by my elbows through life. It must suck to be around me all the time.

"I saw a thrift shop on the way here," Clint said, standing up and placing a few bills on the table. "How about I get you some new clothes?"

I squinted up at him, and he pointed at my tattered prison uniform.

"That thing is just disgusting by now, come on," Clint smirked, shaking his head at all of the garbage stains on it, but I was still hesitant. "I also saw a risqué leather store, though it might have been an adult shop…"

"Shut the fuck up, man," I snorted, pushing in my chair and exiting the restaurant with him. "You call yourself Hawkeye. We should stop by Sesame Street and see if Big Bird will rent you his suit for a bit."

"That's the spirit," Clint chuckled, but frowned at the thought of trying to shoot arrows as a fluffy yellow beast. I, however, thought it was hilarious.

Hours later, my hair was thoroughly washed, and I was dolled up in a second hand leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans. I had already stained my white shirt by spilling lemonade on it, after laughing at one of Clint's ridiculous roof stories.

"I just bought you that, you clutz!" Clint groaned, pointing at me as I giggled and uselessly dabbed the sticky shirt with a napkin. After a few glorious hours of 'thrifting', Clint ordered that we sit down and relax for a bit before we parted ways.

"Sorry!" I taunted, and he muttered something about millennials. "So your pants ripped…"

"Yeah … and the next thing I knew, I was spinning through the air, with no way of telling where I was going to land until I did … right on top of my mark, with no pants or boxers since they ripped free during the fall."

I clapped as he made a disgruntled expression. I shook my head and grinned from ear to ear.

"Honour and glory. Those are synonyms for your name now," I stated, ignoring the two guys next to our table who were wondering why the hell we were laughing so uproariously.

Clint grinned, allowing himself to chuckle for a few seconds before he began to tap a rhythm with his fingertips on the table. Checking the time on his watch, my smile faded and I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

"You can leave, it's alright," I said. His eyes focused on me, and he blinked while my voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He grunted for clarification of my words, so I repeated them.

"Yeah, I know," he responded, a shadow of a grin on his face.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, leaning my neck back and squinting at him.

"It means I called Tony," he explained. In reaction to the disgust on my face, he omitted a throaty laugh. "Don't look at me like that."

Imitating an irritated duck, I flattened my lips and stuck them out. "Then don't do shit like that without my permission. I'm grown, I can make calls by myself."

Ignoring the point of my statement, his eyes lit up and his hand flew to his coat pocket. "I just remembered …"

"What the hell?" I said this while examining a cellphone that Barton had in his outstretched palm. "Why?"

"You can't always use a phone box," he shrugged.

"I'm not taking that," I said, sitting back in my chair and folding my hands in my lap. "No. I'm not letting you waste that on me."

"Take it," Clint commanded, placing it on the table and sliding it towards me. Annoyed, I glared at the nice looking phone. "The bill goes to my house. Free texting on weekends and after four. Unlimited calling. Pick it up."

"You're not giving this to me," I stated, shaking my head stubbornly. "Fuck off, I owe you too much already."

"Then we'll add this one to the list of favours you owe me," he argued. Rolling my eyes, I couldn't believe he was trying to do this. What an idiot.

Breaking my gaze, he took a deep breath while standing and placing money on the table. "I'll see you around, Mels. Call me if you need anything."

Trying not to pout too obviously, I said: "You told me your phone lines were tapped."

"How else was I supposed to get you off the damn phone?" Clint asked and gave me a subtle wink. Showing him my middle finger as the most friendly goodbye I could muster, he disappeared into the crowd. I looked at the phone on the table for a few seconds.

Reluctance in my groan of frustration, I snatched the phone off the table and looked at it. The background was blank, and there was no password. In fact, it was untouched apart from the speed dials: Clint had set his own phone to number one.

"What a dad," I snorted, looking at the nicest gift I had received in … well. A very long time. My mouth upturned almost unnoticeably.

I scraped my chair backwards with a sharp kick, and jumped to my feet. Leaving the table without a second glance, I shoved the phone into my leather jacket's pocket.

I looked up at the sky, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Tony was coming for me, how nice. Supposing these were my last moments of freedom, I decided to keep walking until I was forced to stop.

The town was nice, I had to admit. People didn't make eye contact with me, but it was better than spending my time curled up next to a dumpster. I passed an antique shop, and a necklace with the Star of David caught my eye, and I abruptly stopped walking.

Stepping closer to the glass, I peered in, but didn't let my stoic expression change. The religious items were just a reminder of my mother, and though I appreciated the fresh pain that came with them, I was simultaneously irked. I didn't have time to be reflective right now. I had to be happy, dammit.

I looked over to see the name of the store, but the reflection of the glass is what grabbed my attention. The same two men who had been sitting next to me and Clint at the cafe were across the street, window shopping.

Forcing my movements to be fluid and natural, I walked away from the store and stopped at the next. The men mirrored my actions, apart from the occasional glances in my direction. What if they come back for you? Clint's words struck a chord of fear in my chest, and my hands began to shake.

It's broad daylight, I reasoned, clenching my teeth tightly. What are they gonna do? Put a bag over my head?

Not thinking over my multiple options, I spun on my heel and crossed the street. Cars honked at me, but I paid them no mind. With eyes only for the two men, I stalked towards them quickly.

Grabbing one by the arm and forcing him to look at me, I came face to face with someone who looked like they shook at the thought of jaywalking.

"Why are you following me?" I demanded, my shrill voice catching the attention of a few pedestrians. "Answer me!"

"I-I don't know what," he exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. He began to sweat and glance at his friend, imploring help. "I'm sorry, we were just walking, we didn't even notice you-"

"That's some Grade A bullshit. Cut it before I put your heads so far up your own asses that you'll … oh, I don't know, you'll do something," I barked, looking at his friend with what I hoped to be dangerous look in my eye.

Still stuttering and acting dramatic, he lowered his gaze to the ground. I looked down and noticed the pistol in his waistband. Was he threatening me? His friend tapped his backpack strap and nodded. My guess? There were more guns in there.

"Who the fuck are you people?" I asked, squinting my eyes and wondering why they would be trying to do this now. Were they hoping I'd duck into an alley? I was an alcoholic, not a heroine addict.

The friend mouthed the word "move", and jerked his head backwards. As my face soured into a sneer, I deduced that these asshats were definitely not part of an organized community. Fucking amateurs, coming at me in broad daylight.

"Try again," I said, pocketing my hands and waiting to see what they would do next. Raising my eyebrows, I watched them exchanged looks. "Something wrong?"

The man with the pistol reached for his weapon and I watched him, a bit concerned. Was he really going to do this in public? Loading his gun with very little stealth, my mouth fell open in surprise.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I asked, but they weren't scared of the annoyance in my voice. Turning my head to see if anyone else was witnessing the fuckery unfolding before my eyes, an obvious eavesdropper stopped rifling through her purse to look. She pulled out her phone, never breaking eye contact with me. As touched as I was at the gesture, I moved my head back and forth subtly.

Looking back at the two goons, I stumbled back at how close the pistol was to my chest. He was shuffling closer, and I raised my hands, putting them parallel with my ears so both of them could see.

"Don't make a scene," I commanded, trying to be a stern as possible, but it was hard. I felt more like I was talking down a little kid with a water pistol than someone waving a grown-up gun as if he knew what he was doing. I angled myself to be guided into the nearest alley, which was only a few steps away. However, the pistol-man's eyes weren't on me anymore - they were on the lady with the phone. She was dialing the police as the man pointed his gun at her.

"Hey!" he barked, taking a step forward and exposing his weapon even more. These guys really sucked, but the one with the backpack was already slipping it off. Soon I would have some heavy artillery to deal with.

I grabbed the hand holding the gun and twisted his forearm like I was starting up a motorcycle. Stretching awkwardly, I tried to grab the gun but he dropped it after realizing what I was trying to do. Well, two can play Keep-Away, so I kicked the thing as hard as I could to who knows where. Still with a decent hold on his wrist, I swept his feet out from under him. I left him dazed on the ground and took a steadying step towards the man with the backpack so I could kick him right in the jewels.

When he lurched forward in pain, I guided the back of his head so his nose collided with my kneecap. I had bent it just for him and I hoped he was appreciating that new stage in our relationship as much as I was. The guy on the ground, who was standing up again, cocked his pistol in my direction. How'd he get that?

"Oh, shit," I grunted, grabbing the backpack guy by the arm and swinging his body so he hit his partner in the stomach. Not fazed for long, the pistol guy didn't bother standing up straight before he began to fire at me.

I jumped backwards as a bullet narrowly missed my foot. A woman screamed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the people in the street finally clearing out instead of gathering around us like this was a high school fight. I jumped dangerously close to him, and with adrenaline racing to my fingertips, I grabbed the barrel of the gun.

"Oh damn," I yelped as he managed to shoot despite the awkward angle I forced his hand into. The bullet skid on the concrete of the now sparsely populated street. Stepping aside so the barrel was pointed opposite of where I stood, it was obvious that my strength was going to win out in this intense thumb war. I looked at the pointed part of his elbow and yanked the gun so his arm was straight.

I felt absolutely no regret when I punched the outside of his elbow with enough force to split his arm. I let him drop to the ground on top of his friend, still screaming in pain. Adjusting the pistol so I held it properly, I rolled my eyes uncomfortably. Listening to him screech in agony wasn't my favourite pastime.

I felt less sorry when the guy's screaming drowned out his secret partner sneaking up on me and smothering my face with a rag.

Breathing in, my muscles began to shut down. What the hell was that? In my rapidly shutting down brain, I still managed to make an equation that made sense: whatever the hell was on that rag equals very bad. Holding my breath and slouching forward so my feet were a safe distance away, I blindly shot at the ground until I hit whoever was holding me. A few seconds later I was breathing sweet air as some jackass wailed for his poor foot behind me.

Spinning so I could see his stupid face, I couldn't bear to look at him for more than a second. Swinging the gun as if the barrel was a baton, I hit him in the temple, sending his already bent over form to the ground. Relieved, I turned, throwing back my head. I welcomed a moment to catch my racing thoughts.

Some guy was tiptoeing towards the backpack guy, still trapped under his friend. I cocked my head, a no doubt pleading look in my eyes.

"Are you serious?" I asked, shrugging as the man froze for a second before launching himself towards the backpack. A bullet was buried in his foot before he reached it, but my moment was gone. Annoyed, I scratched my cheek, visibly recoiling from the screams of pain.

I stalked over to the backpack man. Squatting to see the backpack guy's face smeared with blood made me frustrated more than anything else. How the hell was I going to get information out of an unconscious guy?

I poked his forehead, and his head lolled, but there was no response. I clicked my tongue and ground my teeth. "You drama queen. Get up, you probably have a broken nose. Walk it off."

A beeping sound caught my attention, and I frowned in bewilderment. What the hell was that? I waited for a second before the beeping turned out to be a chirping bird. From what?

No way had I forgotten what a ringtone sounded like. I was locked up for under a year, not sixty years, but I patted my pockets for Clint's phone anyway, hoping to God I didn't crack the screen. As unscathed as the phone was, it had no notifications, so I turned to the unconscious guy in front of me.

Surprisingly, I was not ashamed to slap the unconscious guy's pockets in search for a phone. I guess after you kick someone in the balls, you don't need polite small talk anymore.

After wrenching a phone from his pocket, I brought it up to my face, and read the message he just received. The screen was webbed with ugly white scratches, but I could vaguely read a text that was sent not a minute ago: "Psychic not with her."

I read the text a second time, then threw the phone on the ground. I don't know who I might have been deceiving, but I struggled to stay calm. Staring at the unmoving bodies of my attackers, I laced my fingers together.. A second, then two, went by in silence before I snorted, forcing a smile to erupt on my face. "You sons of bitches."

Anyone who had the guts to stick around until then was probably even more frightened when I bent down next to the nearest man's face and yelled: "I just got out of jail, dumbass. Of course he's not with me."

I shook my head and got to my feet, too angry to hear the approaching sirens. "You motherfuckers. I actually believed we were over this."

Spreading my arms out to greet the people watching me through fancy technology, I waved the gun in my hands as if I'd never held one in my life. I didn't think any sensical words passed my lips in those few moments that I paced around, occasionally stopping to look at the dickheads lying on the ground.

"The Psychic, huh?" I laughed, my anger tapping into my other emotions. I might as well have been in front of a crowd at a theatre for all of the dramatic hand waving I did. Funny how much unsettled rage you can dig up in under two minutes. "You all are idiots. I don't care about you coming after him. But to think … you painted me as some doormat that'd let a physic back into my life after he left me in that fucking prison? Unbelievable…"

When the police arrived, they made a wise choice to stay back and yell from behind their car doors. Even with megaphones, the voice in my head screamed louder. I told the cops that came to stop some lunatic sparring match about how if I saw that cowardly psychic, I'd take his spinal cord for myself. He obviously doesn't need it. He'd rather sit and watch me get tortured through his stupid 'visions'. I hate him, I said.

But all they cared about was making sure I didn't fire that gun at someone important. I hopped from one foot to the other, refusing to cower when they threatened to shoot me. Begrudgingly, I forced rationality to reenter my train of thought. At long last, I tossed the gun to the side. Putting my hands behind my head as per request, I surrendered.

They approached me hesitantly, but I didn't want to fight anymore. Not with them, at least. I knelt on the ground and stared straight ahead, pretending not to feel the handcuffs on my wrists or the hand on my shoulder. I let myself be guided into their custody.

Not with them, I commanded myself. Not with them ...


End file.
